


A Fever You Can't Sweat Out

by coldairballoons



Category: Edgar Allan Poe's Murder Mystery Dinner Party (Web Series)
Genre: Based on Panic! At The Disco, Drinking, Multi, Smoking, Yearning, in progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:29:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26054233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coldairballoons/pseuds/coldairballoons
Summary: A collection of one-shots about Eddie Dantes based on the Panic! at the Disco discography.
Relationships: Eddie Dantes & Ernest Hemingway
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	A Fever You Can't Sweat Out

**Author's Note:**

> Once upon a time, I said something about every Panic! at the Disco song having Eddie Dantes vibes. Then I jokingly said that I would write a oneshot for every single song... and then my partner got on board... and now this is happening.

His fingertips tapped against the glass of whiskey, raising it to his lips to take another sip while casting a suspicious glance about the room. Some muffled jazz music played from the basement, where Eddie could already hear a scuffle starting to pick up pace. His cue to leave.

Setting down a couple dollars on the bar, he stood, buttoning his coat, blatantly trying to ignore the man stumbling up the steps, a half-full glass of some unknown drink, the other half of which was currently spilled down his shirt. Eddie brushed past him on his way out the door, already fiddling with a box of cigarettes in his pocket. 

Finally, he managed to pull one out, lighting it and leaning up against the brick wall of the bar to take a drag from the cigarette. The smoke seemed to glide through the air, catching in the streetlamp’s glow and fading away on the December wind. Eddie shivered, undoing his scarf, and taking another drag, before someone tapped him on the shoulder.

“Ernest Hemingway. Can I have a smoke?”

Eddie turned, and sure enough, it was the man from inside. His face was red and flushed, shaky breaths coming quickly. It was almost as though he was trying to fight back tears, and of course, what could Eddie do but comply with his request? He handed him the cigarette, smiling a bit. “Sure. Eddie Dantes, nice to meet you.”

“Sure, sure.” Ernest raised the cigarette to his lips, inhaling. He winced, handing it back to Eddie, who took it and flicked off a bit of spare ash, holding it up so the smoke circled up into the air. 

Eddie looked up at the sky, the dull roar of the bar still thudding in his ears. “Do you ever wonder what it’s all for?” Ernest looked at him, frowning, and reached for the cigarette, taking it and taking a drag from it.

“The hell are you on about?” He asked, leaning his head against the bricks. Eddie shook his head, just staring up, into the sky. 

The jazz was starting up again from the basement, this time a more upbeat tempo. A humming of feedback was coming from the microphone in the basement, and he could hear cars on the freeway. Eddie sighed, taking a drag of the cigarette from Ernest’s hand. “It’s so loud, do you ever think about how… loud the city is at night?”

Ernest shook his head, grabbing a flask from an inside pocket of his coat and taking a swig from it. “Nah. I don’t have time to worry about that.”

“Ah.” He nodded, looking away, tapping away a few more ashes from the end of the cigarette before taking another drag. “I must say, I find myself worrying about it far more than I should like to say.”

“Do you?” The other man finished off the flask, tapping it for a moment before ensuring that it was empty, then sighed.

A gust of wind blew through the street, and Eddie shivered, taking the cigarette in his mouth as he pulled on gloves. Ernest gave him a funny look, but he shook him off, handing him the cigarette. 

“It’s been a pleasure, Mr. Hemingway,” Eddie hummed, glancing over at him. “Keep it. If you ever… wish to discuss existentialism again at a further date…”

Ernest smiled a bit, nodding, and offered his hand. “Nice meeting you too, Mr. Dantes.” He said, raising his hand to his forehead in a sort of drunken half-salute. (Eddie rolled his eyes at that.) 

Another gust of wind buffeted the two, and Eddie sighed, retying his scarf and turning to leave, but then, before he could actually leave, he paused. “Are you alright?”

“Yep.” Ernest said, but he was crying for real this time, and Eddie sighed, turning back to him. He wiped his face quickly with the sleeve of his jacket, looking away. “Fine.”

With a heavy sigh, Eddie offered him a hand. “You’re drunk. Come back to my place for the night, you’re in no shape to walk home.” 

The other man shook his head, going to stumble up, standing straight. “I should get back. Nice talking to you, Dantes. A real pleasure.”

Eddie genuinely couldn’t tell whether that was just pure sarcasm or if his words were genuine, but nodded, straightening the collar of his coat, and turned, walking down the street.

It was colder than he remembered, there was something so much… colder, walking alone rather than sharing a cigarette with a total stranger. He figured it had something to do with the shared body heat, and the bit of charcoal on the end of the cigarette, but… still. It was cold.

And Eddie turned back, almost absentmindedly, but sure enough, the other man was gone. 

Not as though he had expected anything else, of course.


End file.
